"1 


li  rnia 
ir  il 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


// 


') 


VASSAR    VERSE 

A  COLLECTION  OF  POEMS 
FROM  THE  PUBLICATIONS  OF 
VASSAR   COLLEGE.      1872-1893 


EDITED   BY 


EDITH     COLBY    BANFIELD,     92.    AND 
SARAH  ELISABETH   WOODBRIDGE,  '92 


CAMBRIDGE 

prinrcb  at  tftr  Rrtrcr.iSibf  prcW 
'S93 


Copyright,  1893, 
Bv  EDITH   C.  BANFIELD. 

All  rights  reserved. 


M'^^^^Q^ 

^^©^:^?^^^^^^^ 

PREFACE 


HE  favor  that  Vassar  poems  have 
won,  as  they  have  appeared  in  the 
college  magazines,  seems  warrant  for 
their  publication  in  book  form.  The 
verses  of  this  collection  have  been  selected  in 
the  main  from  the  \"assar  Miscellan}-,  from 
the  time  of  its  foundation  to  the  present  date. 
The  exceptions  are  a  few  poems  taken  from 
the  Vassarions  of  recent  years.  It  is  regretted 
that  signatures  could  not  be  obtained  for  all 
of  the  poems.  Very  many  of  them  were  pub- 
lished anonymously,  and  it  has  not  been  possi- 
ble to  discover  the  writers  in  all  cases. 

The  editors  wish  to  express  their  apprecia- 
tion of  the  interest  that  all  have  taken  in  their 
work,  and  their  gratitude  for  the  help  that  they 
have  received  from  many  friends. 


762930 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

"  Hark  how  the  Storm- King  rages."     Juliet  W.  Tomp- 
kins, '91 1 

A  Rondel.      Maud  M.  Morris 3 

The  March  Wind  blows.     A  nonynwus 4 

Song.     A  nonymous 5 

"Oh,  the  World  is  Fair."      Anonymous 6 

Nesting.     A  nony-inous 7 

Pussy-Willows.     Edith  C.  Banfield,  '92 8 

The  Water-Spirit  of  the  Storm.   Juliet  IV.  Tompkins, 'c)i  9 

May- Day  Greeting.     Lillian  La  Monte,  'Sg 10 

"  A  Merry  Blue-eyed  Laddie."   Juliet  IV.  Tompkins,  '91  12 

To  an  Oriole.     Eliza  P.  Cobb,  '93 13 

Rosalie.     Juliet  IV.  Tom/kins,  '91 14 

Night-Song.     Lola  L.  Iddings,  'S9 16 

Ebb  Tide.     Grace  E.  Palmer,  '93 17 

Noon  in  August.     A  nonymous 18 

Solitude.     A  nonymous 20 

In  the  Pines.      Juliet  IV.  Tompkins,  '91 21 

In  a  Wheat-Field.     Mary  L.  Boynton,'<n 22 

A  Late  October  Day.      Anonymous 23 

The  Little  Lake.     Juliet  IV.  Tompkins,  'gr 24 

The  First  Snowstorm.     Emily  E.  Morris,  '90 26 

"  A  Thousand  Times  the  Wintry  Sun."'      Lola  L.  Id- 
dings,  '89 27 

A  Valentine.     Mabel  Cornish,  '89 28 

The  Sleeping  Princess.     Juliet  IV.  Tompkins,  '91 29 


vi  CONTEXTS 

From  the  German  of  Heine.     L.  Miwui  Ferrell,  '89 3' 

The  Story.     A  nonymous 3* 

"  In  Lighter  Vein."     Elizabeth  K.  Adams, 'iH 34 

Of  Course.      Juliet  IV.  Tompkins,   91 35 

Vassar College.      Ainy  L.  Jieed,'^2 37 

To  a  Little  Editor.     Juliet  AK.  Tompkins,  '91 .  38 

Notes  on  a  Psychology  Recitation.      Annie  T.  Netile- 

ion,'S<) 40 

Vassar  to  Harvard.      Juliet  IV.  Tom/kins,  \i 42 

A  Common  Occurrence.    A  lice  C.  Brown,  '93 43 

Quid  pro  Quo.     Amy  L.  Reed,  'yi 44 

To  the  Point.     Florence  Hulliday,  '91 47 

"  Get  along,  Old  Pegasus."     Katharine  V.  D.  Marker, 

•93 48 

The  Dear  Unattainable.     Mary  L.  Boynton,  '94 49 

Confessio  Amantis.     Jeannie  C.  Drake,  '80 50 

A  Song  of  Degrees.     Lillian  La  Monte,  ^^ 52 

"  Are  those  Brown  Eyes  quite  in  Earnest  ?  "  ^  nonytnous  54 
"  Little  Maid,  I  "ve  lost  my  Heart."     Emelyn  B.  Hart- 
ridge,  '92 55 

"  Little  Dan  Cupid."     Amy  L.  Reed,  'tji 56 

A  Humble  Romance.      Juliet  IV.  Tompkins,  '91 58 

His  Valentine.     Elizabeth  K.  Adams,  '91 60 

The  Tale  of  a  Pegasus.      Juliet  W.  Tompkitis,  '91 61 

Love's  Prescription.      Juliet  VV.  Tompkins,  '91 62 

Bess's  Christmas.      U-'ini/red  A  mold,  '96 64 

A  Difference.     Juliet  IV.  Tompkins,  '91 65 

Rondeau.      Elizabeth  K.  A  dams,  '93 ^6 

An  Explanation.     L.  Minfia  Ferrell, ''ig 67 

My  Hounds.     Juliet  IV.  Tompkins,  '91 68 

Greatness.     A  nnie  T.  Nettleton,  "89 69 

Tlie  Mountain  Torrent.      Lola  L.  Iddings,  '8g 7' 

Failure.      A  nonymous 73 

"  Love  is  a  River."     Anonymous 74 

Serenade.      Juliet  W.  Tompkins,  '91 75 

The  Sky's  Valentine.     Alice  C.  Brown,  \i 76 

To  a  Lady.     A  nonymoiis 77 


CONTENTS  VU 

"  Why  is  it  thus  in  our  World,  I  wonder."     Emelyn  B. 

Hartridge,  '92 ^ 

Sonnet  from  the  Dead.     Jenette  B.  Perry 79 

To  a  Picture  —"  Memory."     Leonora  Howe,  '94 -^  8° 

On  Bodenhausen's  Picture,  "The  Madonna  and  Child." 

Bessie  H.  Haight,  "94 • ' 

The  Star  of  Bethlehem.     Elizabeth  K.  Adams,   ^z----  «3 

Guido's  Madonn.i.     Grace  E.  Palmer,  '93 ^4 

The  Poet.     Elizabeth  K.  A  dams,  \i S5 

86 

Chaucer.     Anonymous •■  •    • 

Sonnets:  I.  Alfred  Tennyson ;  II.  George  Wdham  Curtis. 

Elizabeth  K.  Adams,  '93 "J 

"  A  White  Light  fell  on  the  Waters  Blue."    A  nonymous.  89 

Masquerade.      Katliarine  Warren 9° 

Rondel.     Elizabeth  K.  Adams, '^ii 91 


^^^>^^ 


CONTRIBUTORS 


PAGE 

Adams,  Elizabeth  K.,  '93 34.  60,  66,  83,  85,  87,  gi 

Arnold,  Winifred,  '96 64 

Banfield,  Edith  C,  "92 8 

Boynton,  Mary  L.,  '94 221  49 

Brown,  Alice  C,  '93 43i  76 

Cobb,  Eliza  P.,  '93 '3 

Cornish,  Mabel,  89 28 

Drake,  Jeannie  C,  "So 50 

Ferrell,  L.  Minna,  "Sg 3' 

Haight,  Bessie  H.,  '94 81 

Halliday,  Florence,  '91 47 

Marker,  Katharine  V.  D.,  '93 48 

Hartridge,  Emelyn  B.,  '92 S5>  78 

Howe,  Leonora,  '94 80 

Iddings,  Lola  L.,  '8g 16..  27,  71 

La  Monte,  Lillian,  "Sg 'o.  52 

Morris,  Emily  E. ,  '90 26 

Morris,  Maud  M 3 

Nettleton,  Annie  T.,  '89 4°.  69 

Palmer,  Grace  E.,  '93 17.  84 

Perry,  Jenette  B 79 

Reed,  Amy  L,,  '92 37!  44.  5^ 

Tompkins,  Juliet  W.,  '91 i,  9,  12,  14,  21,  24,  29,  35,  38) 

58,  61,  62,  65,  68,  75 
Warren,  Katharine,  '8g 90 


VASSAR   VERSE 


I. 

ARK  how  the  stormkinpr  rao^es  ; 
'^L-'xLkt'i  The  winds  are  mournfully  crying; 

But  over  the  trackless  snow  my  soul 
To  another  land  is  flying, 
Where  the  poppies  are  waving,  waving, 

And  the  roses  hang  down  from  above,  — 
Away  to  the  land  of  sunshine 
Where  is  waiting  the  one  I  love. 


Through  the  twilight  she  comes  to  meet  me, 

The  fireflies  round  her  glisten. 
The  river  sweeps  on  with  its  low  sweet  song, 

And  the  willows  bend  down  to  listen. 
About  her  hovers  the  incense 

Of  the  violets  'neath  her  feet; 
Her  dreamy  eyes  are  lifted  — 

Already  our  fingers  meet. 


J'ASSA/i  VERSE 

Have  I  been  sleeping  —  dreaming? 

Harlt  to  the  wild  wind's  crying. 
Away  from  this  land  of  snow  and  storm, 

Would  that  I  might  be  flying  !  — 
Oh,  for  the  waving  poppies 

And  the  roses  that  hang  from  above. 
Oh,  for  the  land  of  sunshine 

And  the  sight  of  the  one  I  love  ! 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


A   RONDEL 


n. 

A    RONDEL. 


JRAPT  round  in  a  cold  white  cloud 
The  moon  is  dying  to-night,  alone. 
The  stars  have  all  of  them  thought- 
less flown ; 
Tenderly,  slowly,  is  folded  her  shroud. 
With  the  softness  with  which  the  night  is  en- 

dow'd, 
And  the  wind  is  saddened  into  a  moan. 
Wrapt  round  in  a  cold  white  cloud 
The  moon  is  dying  to-night,  alone. 
In  the  presence  of  Death  all  nature  is  bow'd, 
The  wave  beats  the  shore  in  a  dirge  monotone, 
Black  Night  in  slow  grace  is  ascending  her 

throne. 
The  world  is  to  mystery  pledged  and  vow'd. 
Wrapt  round  in  a  cold  white  cloud 
The  moon  is  dying  to-night,  alone. 

Maud  Margaret  Morris. 


I  ASS  A  A'    I'EJ^SE 


III. 

THE    MARCH    WIND    BLOWS. 

HE    March   wind   blows    along    the 

shore, 
And  shrieks  and  sleeps  and  wakes 
once  more  ; 
And  gathers  all  its  might  to  rise, 
And  chase  along  the  troubled  skies 
The  frightened  clouds  that  fl)'  before  ; 
Then  feigns  its  sudden  wrath  is  o'er. 
And  knocks  half  gently  at  the  door; 

And  laughing  mocks  me  as  it  flies  ; 
The  March  wind  blows. 

I  dream  of  you,  dear  Eleanore, 
The  wee  blush  rosebud  that  you  wore. 
Half  faded  now,  before  me  lies. 
Sweet  visions  float  across  my  eyes, 
While  loud  without  with  angry  roar, 
The  March  wind  blows. 


SOXG 


IV. 

SONG. 

EEP,  deep, 
In  their  caves  below, 
While  the  cold  winds  blow, 
The  flowers  sleep, 
Sleep. 


There,  there, 
Live  the  fairies  who  guard  the  flowers, 
And  sing  to  them,  sing  thro'  the   cold   dark 

hours. 
Until  they  dream  of  the  sun  that  smiles 
Over  the  meadow  for  miles  and  miles  ; 
But  ever  they  sleep. 
Sleep. 

Soft,  soft, 
Whisper  the  fairies  of  waving  trees 
That  beckon  the  flowers  with  every  breeze, 
Of  birds  that  nest  in  the  boughs  and  call. 
Call  to  their  mates,  till  the  flowers  all 

Laugh  as  they  sleep, 
Sleep. 


I'ASSAR  VERSE 


And 
And 
The 

The 


H,  the  world   is  fair,  for  the  sun  is 
hi,«(h, 
And  the  clouds  have  fled  from  the 
April  sky, 
the  river  leaps  on  its  way,  and  sings, 
draws  new  life  from  its  mountain  springs, 
robin  calls  from  the  willow  tree, 
"  Do  you  hear  ?     Do  you  see  ? 
world  is  fair  and  joy  is  free, 

Do  you  see  ? " 


And  what  if  the  sun  shall  hide  awhile 
In  his  mantle  of  clouds  ?     He  soon  will  smile. 
And  gladden  the  river  and  wake  the  bird 
And  stoop  to  the  earth  for  a  whispered  word, 
While  the  robin  sings  in  the  willow  tree,  — 

"  Do  you  hear  ?     Do  you  see  ? 
The  world  is  fair  and  joy  is  free, 

Do  vou  see  ? " 


NESTING 


VI. 

NESTING. 

^HOOSIXG  a  place  for  nesting, 
With  just  a  bird's  light  care  ; 
On  barren  spine,  or  leafy  branch. 
What  doth  it  matter  where, 
So  twittering  love  be  there  ? 

Choosing  a  place  for  nesting  ; 
Or  hill  or  plain  or  hollow  — 

Or  north  or  south,  or  east  or  west, 
Ah  !  little  recks  the  swallow, 
If  but  his  true  mate  follow. 

Choosing  a  place  for  nesting 
This  balmy  witching  weather; 

Be  it  in  lofty  fragrant  pine, 
Be  it  in  lowly  heather. 
Ah  !  little  recks  she  whether. 


8  I'ASSAA'  VER^E 

V]I. 

PUSSY-WILLOWS. 

USSY-WILLOWS,  shyly  peeping, 
Gaining  courage,  slyly  creeping, 
From  their  little  coats  looked  out 
To  find  what  Nature  was  about. 

Pussy-willows,  getting  bolder. 
Growing  strong  as  they  grew  older. 
Threw  their  old  black  coats  away, 
Showed  soft  fuzzy  robes  of  gray. 

Pussy-willows,  nodding  brightly 
As  the  breezes  brushed  them  lightly. 
Played  at  hide-and-seek  all  day 
With  the  sunbeams,  warm  and  gay. 

Pussy-willows,  cloudy  hours. 
Revelled  in  the  April  sliowers, 
Listened  to  the  robins'  call, 
Watched  the  sunshine  steal  o'er  all. 

Pussy-willows,  gold-dust  laden. 
Caught  the  eye  of  passing  maiden ; 
Interrupted  in  their  play. 
Gleefully  were  borne  away. 

Edith  Colby  Banfield. 


THE  WA  TER-SPIRIT  OF  THE  STORM 

VIII. 

THE   WATER-SPIRIT   OF   THE   STORM. 

HE  Water-spirit  of  the  Storm 
I  could  not  help  but  dub  her, 
As  she  passed  by  in  mackintosh 
And  little  hood  of  rubber. 

No  tongs  had  formed  the  merry  curls 
That  danced  upon  her  forehead. 

She  battled  gaily  with  the  winds, 
And  in  the  storm  she  gloried. 

The  raindrops  fell  upon  her  face 

As  on  an  upturned  flower. 
Her  eyes  were  like  two  violets. 

Caught  in  an  April  shower. 

But  ah  !  another  joined  her  steps, 

And  all  my  visions  faded, 
For  who  could  fancy  water-sprites 

By  silk  umbrellas  shaded  ? 

Yes,  I  was  vexed,  for  I,  you  see, 

Was  just  about  to  tell  her 
How  very  happy  I  should  be, 

If  she  'd  share  ;///  umbrella  ! 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tomfkins, 


lO  I'ASSA/i  rEJiiiE 


IX. 

MAY-DAY    GREETING. 

ITHIN  my  door  stands  blithesome 
Spring 
On  May-day  morning. 
What  gentle  greeting  doth  she  bring 
On  May-day  morning.? 
"  Come  deck  your  heart  with  mirth  and  glee, 
Come  fetter  care  and  trip  with  me 
On  May-day  morning. 

"  I  do  not  bid  you  far  a-field 

For  May-day  morning, 
Where  meadows  pied  their  cowslips  yield 

For  May-day  morning, 
Where  rippling  brooklets  gaily  run 
And  lambkins  gambol  'neath  the  sun 

For  May-day  morning. 

"  A  sheltered  garden  I  will  show 

This  May-day  mofning, 
A  spot  where  blooming  maidens  grow 

This  May-day  morning, 


MAV-DAV  GREETING  il 

Where  rippling  laughter  gaily  runs 
And  bright  eyes  dance  like  spring-tide  suns 
This  May-day  morning." 

Full  blithely  will  I  heed  your  hest, 

Sweet  May-day  morning. 
Of  all  life's  spring  songs  yours  is  best, 

Sweet  May-day  morning. 
For  fresher,  fairer,  sweeter  far 
Than  all  your  blossoms  maidens  are, 

Sweet  May-day  morning. 

Lillian  La  Monte. 


12  f'ASSAA'  FERSE 


MERRY,    blue -eyed    laddie    goes 
laughing  tlirough  the  town, 
Singing,  "  Hey,  but  the  world  is  a 
gay,  gay  place  !  " 
And  every  little  lassie  smoothes  her  tumbled 

locks  a-down, 
And  brings  out  all  her  dimples  and  hides  away 
her  frown, 
And  lays   aside   her  broom  and   mop,  the 

bonnie  boy  to  chase, 
Singing,  "  Hey,  but  the  world  is  a  gay,  gay 
place  !  " 

But  away  the  blue-eyed  laddie  goes  to  seek 
another  town. 
Singing,  "  Hey,  but  the  world  is  a  gay,  gay 
place  ! " 
Then  every  dimple  vanishes  and  back  comes 

every  frown, 
And  every  little  lassie  folds  away  her  Sunday 
gown. 
With   teardrops   trickling   sadly  down   her 

woeful  little  face. 
Sighing,  "  Hey,  but  the  world  is  a  sad,  sad 
place!" 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


TO  AN  ORIOLE  13 


XI. 

TO    AN   ORIOLE. 


EEK-A-BOO,  peek-a-boo,  here,  here," 
Tempting,  teasing  me  to  play, 
Sing  you  in  the  orchard  near. 


Summons  could  not  be  more  clear; 

Unmistakably  you  say 

"  Peek-a-boo,  peek-a-boo,  here,  here." 

Full  of  mischief,  free  from  fear. 

In  a  tantalizing  way 

Sing  you  in  the  orchard  near. 

Now  one  moment  j-ou  appear, 

Just  a  flash  of  orange  gay,  — 

"  Peek-a-boo,  peek-a-boo,  here,  here." 

Firm  resisting,  I  with  cheer 
Ply  my  busy  task  all  day ; 
Sing  you  in  the  orchard  near. 

Gladness  pouring  in  my  ear, 
Through  this  sunny  month  of  May, 
"  Peek-a-boo,  peek-a-boo,  here,  here," 
Sing  you  in  the  orchard  near. 

Eliza  Pol  hem  us  Cobb. 


14 


FASSAA'  r£A'SA' 


XII. 


ROSALIE. 


VER  the  fields  where  the  soft  wind 
blows, 
Sweetest  of  flowers,  Rosalie  goes, 
Ever  bending,  so  daintily  slight. 
To  gather  the  daisies  golden  and  white. 
Careless  and  happy  she  passes  by 
Bearing  her  daisy  sheaf. 

The  grasses  cling  to  her  trailing  gown:  — 
"  RosaHe,  Rosalie  dear,  stoop  down. 
So  long  we  have  waited  !     Ah,  sweet,  be  kind, 
Go  not  away,  leaving  us  behind." 

But  Rosalie,  careless,  passes  them  by 

Bearing  her  daisy  sheaf. 

Whispers  the  clover  down  at  her  feet, 
"  The  daisy  has  not  our  fragrance  sweet. 
See  how  boldly  she  holds  her  head  ! 
Gather  us,  Rosalie  dear,  instead." 

But  Rosalie,  careless,  passes  them  by, 

Bearing  her  daisy  sheaf. 


ROSALIE 


15 


Rosalie's  lover  kneels  in  the  grass. 
"  Rosalie,  dearest,  do  not  pass 
Leaving  my  heart  to  wither  alone. 
Stoop  and  gather  it,  love,  for  thine  own."' 

But  Rosalie  laughs  and  passes  him  bv, 

Bearing  her  daisy  sheaf. 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


l6  FASSAR  VEKSE 


xni. 

NIGHT-SONG. 

WILL  sing  thee  a  song,  my  heart  so 

dear; 
Sing   thee  a  song   that  none  other 
can  hear, 
As  we  walk  alone  in  the  night. 
When  all  the  turmoil  of  day  is  stilled, 
When  the  cups  of  the  lilies  with  dew  are  filled 

As  they  dream  in  the  pale  moonlight. 
A  song  which  the  sighing  night  winds  know, 
As  they  rise  and  fall  in  cadence  low, 

Breathing  a  thought  for  words  too  deep. 
Ah,  wonderful  music  and  wonderful  sone ! 
Which  trembled  in  ecstasy  all  the  night  long 
Till  my  heart  and  I  fell  asleep. 

Lola  Lammot  Iddings. 


EBB   TIDE  17 


XIV. 
EBB   TIDE. 


;|INCE  now  the  tide  is  out, 
Though  sunset  plumes  the  sky  with 

rosy  cloud, 
Upon  the  bar  the  running  breakers 
crowd 
No  more  in  merrj-  rout, 
Along  the  beach  are  pools  with  opal  glow, 

And  sands  that  rival  pearl-lined  ocean  shell ; 
From  out  her  silent  heavens  Peace  bends  low, 
And  whispers,  "  All  is  well ; 
The  tide  is  out." 

Left  by  the  ebbing  tide 
My  stranded  boat  lies  hi2:h  upon  the  sands; 
There  is  no  strength  witliin  my  weary  hands 

To  drag  it  o'er  this  wide. 
Smooth  beach,  nor  in  my  heart  aught  of  desire 

To  battle  with  the  waves.     We  do  not  feel 
How  of  vain  rowing  eager  arms  can  tire. 
Until  alone  beside  our  boat  we  kneel. 
Left  by  the  ebbing  tide. 

Grace  Emetine  Palmer. 


l8  VASSAA'  r£A'S£ 


XV. 

NOON    IN   AUGUST. 

LONE,  among  the  hills,  in  full  con- 
tent I  lie  ; 
The  yellow  sunshine  warmly  wraps 
the  languid  earth  ; 
Near  me,  a  hidden  brook  flows  gently  purling 
by; 
The  daisies  with  each  breath  nod  on  their 
slender  stems. 

Amid  the  stern,  dark  oaks  gleam  out  some 
willow  trees, 
Which  seem  as  fair  and  soft  as  face  of  little 
child. 
They  bow  and  courtesy  to  each  gently  passing 
breeze, 
Just  as  dear  children  in  their  pretty  fancies 
play. 

Noon  steals  o'er  all  the  land  —  steals  ling'ring 
slowly  by ; 
She  stoops  to  hush  the  brook's  low  purl  — 
fainter  it  sounds. 


NOO.V  IX  AUGUST 


19 


The  drowsy  hum  of  vagrant  bees,  as  past  thev 

fly, 

Seems   like   a  low-voiced   lullaby  to   baby 
flowers. 


f^"-^ 


20 


VASSA/i  VERSE 


XVI. 
SOLITUDE. 


DEEP,  dark  pool  with  no  outlet, 
Around  it  cedars,  sombre,  tall. 

Upon  it  weeds,  a  tangled  net, 
The  dim,  white  moonlight  over  all. 


An  old  canoe,  a  broken  oar, 

Decaying  there  upon  the  sands  ; 

Oh,  who  would  live  on  this  drear  shore, 
And  not  away  to  other  lands  ! 


IX  THE  FIXES  21 


XVII. 

I\    THE    FIXES. 

HERE    were    three    of    us  —  Cupid 
went  with  us,  you  know, 
Dear  blindfolded  boy,  who  is  never 
de  i>'op, 

And  the  words  left  unsaid  the  soft  winds  whis- 
pered low, 

In  the  pines. 

A  small  gift  she  gave  me  —  though  blind,  it  is 

true. 
From   the  way  that   he   laughed    I    am   sure 

Cupid  knew, 
And  the  asters  and  golden  rod,  they  saw  it  too, 
And  the  pines. 

Then  the  shadows  grew  dark  in  the  wood's 

tangled  growth, 
And  homeward  we  turned  in  the  twilight,  half 

loath. 
And  Love  walked  between  with  an  arm  around 

both. 

Through  the  pines. 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tomfki?is. 


22  VASSAR   J'EA'SE 


XVIII. 

IN   A   WHEAT-FIELD. 

LEAMING   and  golden   the   bright 
day  is  ending, 
Never  again  comes  a  moment  like 
this  ; 

See  how  the  wheat  in  its  beauty  is  bending 
Under  the  breezes'  ethereal  kiss  ! 

Seed-time   is   past,    Love,   and   soon  will  the 
reaping 

All  this  gay  beauty  and  gladness  annul ; 
Soon  will  its  glory  forever  go  sweeping 

On  to  utility  joyless  and  dull. 

Look   in   my  eyes,  my  Own,  brimming  with 
laughter  — 
Thou  art  the  summer  wind,  I  am  the  wheat. 
Dull  days  are  left  behind,  dull  days  come  after, 
This  moment  lies  between,  magical,  sweet. 

Mary  Louise  Boynton. 


A   LATE   OCTOBER   DAY  23 

XIX. 

A   LATE    OCTOBER   DAY. 

LATE   October  day,  the   meadows 
brown, 
Grave  memories  alone  of  summer 
tinge, 

The  birches,  with  their  dead  leaves  rustling 
down, 
But  round  the  autumn  brooks  a  silver  fringe. 

Afar  the  gray  clouds  met  the  silent  land. 

Their  soft  caresses  veiled  the  farthest  hill, 
A  quiet  hush,  as  if  a  blessing  hand. 

Extended  o'er  the  whole,  bade  earth  — be 
still. 

A  silence,  not  of  want  but  weight  of  thought, 
A  quiet,  but  the  quietude  of  power, 

A  sense  that  one  would  find,  if  one  but  sought, 
The  truth  decisive  in  the  truth's  good  hour. 

Along  the  west  alone  a  rim  of  gold, 

But,  though  all  colorless,  I  yet  could  see 

A  picture,  in  the  autumn's  frame  of  cold, 
Of  brightness  past,  completion  yet  to  be. 


24  VASSAR  VERSE 


XX. 

THE   LITTLE   LAKE, 

IJESTLED  up  close  to  the  hill's  brown 
breast, 
By   bending   willow   and    larch    ca- 
ressed, 
Where  down  from  the  rocks  the  cool  spring 

leaps, 
A  tiny  lake  ever  laughs  and  sleeps. 

The  river  comes  hurrying,  rushing  down, 
"  Wondrous  sights  have  we  seen  in  the  town  ; 
Through  gloomy  forests  we  've  softly  crept, 
While  you,  little  lake,  have  but  laughed  and 
slept." 

The  fleet  stag  pauses  in  proud  disdain, 
"  I  have  beaten  the  storm-wind  over  the  plain; 
On  the  highest  crag  I  have  proudly  stepped. 
While  you,  little  lake,  have  but  laughed  and 
slept." 

A  traveller  bends  o'er  the  waters  clear, 

"  How  narrow  and  small  your  existence  here; 


THE   LITTLE  LAKE  25 

I  have  lived  and  loved,  I  have  feared  and  wept, 
While  you,  little  lake,  have  but  laughed  and 
slept." 

But  the  little  lake  answers,  "  A  far-off  gain 
You  are  ever  seeking  but  never  attain ; 
In  hurry  and  toil  your  life  is  spent, 
But  I  love  my  hills  and  I  know  content." 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


26  V ASSAIL    I'EA'SE 


XXI. 

THE   FIRST   SNOWSTORM. 

A  child's  poem. 

ITTLE  Miss  Snowflake,  dressed  in 

white, 
Came  down  the  dusty  road  one  night. 
Her  dress  was  as  white  as  a  piece  of 
chalk, 
And  she  pranced  around,  but  did  not  walk  ; 
For  she  was  going  to  a  ball  that  night. 
And  til  at  was  the  reason  she  dressed  in  white. 
There  were  fifty  thousand,  and  many  more,  too, 
And  they  looked  like  the  children  that  lived  in 

the  shoe. 
They  had  for  music,  that  happy  night, 
A  little  brook,  that  sang  about  flight  ; 
They  had  for  chorus  the  rustling  of  leaves. 
That  came  from  the  tops  of  the  tallest  trees. 

Emily  Eugenia  Morris. 


"^    THOUSAND    TIMES"  27 


XXII. 

THOUSAND  times  the  wintry  sun 

Has  bowed  liis  radiant  head ; 
A   thousand   times   the    pale   white 
snow 
Has  blushed  a  rosy  red ; 
A  thousand  times  it  seems  to  you, 
But  then  to  me  it  is  so  new, 
With  sweet  surprise  my  heart  doth  glow 
And  blushes  with  the  sun-kissed  snow. 

Through  crystal  branches  of  the  wood 
There  shines  the  round-eyed  moon; 

The  brook  between  stern  banks  of  ice 
Gives  forth  a  merry  tune. 

'T  was  thus,  you  say,  in  days  of  yore ; 

But  I  Ve  not  heard  the  song  before, 

To  me  't  is  something  new  to  hear 

A  summer  song  in  winter  drear. 

Lola  Lammot  Iddings. 


28 


VASSAR    VERSE 


XXIII. 

A   VALENTINE. 

IS  a  song  of  a  snowflake  cold  and 

white, 
Which  came  to  earth  on  a  winter's 
night, 

And  lay  serene  in  the  calm  moonlight  — 
By  the  window  of  a  lady. 

'T  is  a  song  of  a  sunbeam  bright  and  gay. 
Which  pierced  the  cloud  of  a  winter's  day, 
To  melt  the  snowflake  where  it  lay 
Before  the  eyes  of  the  lady. 

A  song  of  a  heart  like  the  snowflake  cold, 
That  longed  in  vain  for  a  sunbeam  bold 
To  pierce  the  crust  and  pour  its  gold 
Into  the  life  of  the  lady. 

And  then,  there  's  a  song  which  is  sweet  and 

true, 
Of  some  one  fair,  with  eyes  of  blue, 
Who  came  one  day  and  did  gently  woo 
To  warmth  the  heart  of  the  lady. 

Mabel  Cornish. 


THE  SLEEPING  PRIXCESS 


xxrv. 

THE   SLEEPING   PRINCESS. 

PRINCESS  sleeps  in  a  castle  strong, 
Of  wondrous  beauty,  told  of  in  song 

And  fabled  abroad  in  story. 
On  winter  evenings  oft  will  they  tell 
How  she  must  sleep  there,  bound  by  a  spell, 
Till  there  come  a  knight  of  glory. 

Nobles  boasting  that  none  but  they 
Could  drive  the  spell  of  the  sleep  away, 

To  the  castles  have  come  in  numbers. 
Many  a  knight  from  a  far-off  land 
Has  kissed  full  gently  that  cold,  white  hand, 

But  ever  the  princess  slumbers. 

"  She  will  never   wake,"  they  crj- ;    "  She   is 

dead ! 
Car\-ed  from  stone  is  that  beautiful  head, 

The  spirit  of  sleep  to  semble." 
But  I  know  better,  for  watching,  I 
Have  heard  from  those  half-closed  lips  a  sigh, 

I  have  seen  her  eyelid  tremble. 


3°  r ASS  A  A'    rEA'SE 

Never  for  me  will  those  wondrous  eyes 
lie  raised  with  a  look  full  of  glad  surprise, 

Or  those  hands  held  out,  in  waking. 
I  guard  her  couch  ;  I  should  never  dare 
To  touch  one  lock  of  her  soft,  dark  hair, 

To  keep  my  heart  from  breaking. 

Sleep  on,  my  princess  !  I  '11  guard  thee  as  long 
As  knights  and  princes  around  thee  throng, 

With  a  heart  that  never  winces. 
And  when  at  last  shall  the  true  knight  come, 
To  lead  thee  away  to  his  castled  home, 

'T  will  be  sweet  to  die,  my  princess. 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HELVE    3 1 


XXV, 


FROM    THE   GERMAN    OF   HEINE. 

HOU  art  so  like  a  flower, 
So  sweet  and  pure  and  fair, 
I  sraze  on  thee  and  a  sadness 
Steals  into  my  heart  unaware. 
It  seems  as  if  over  thy  dear  head 
I  must  clasp  my  hands,  and  in  prayer 
Ask  God  forever  to  keep  thee 
So  sweet  and  pure  and  fair. 

L.  Minna  Ferrell. 


32 


y ASS  AM    I'EKSE 


XXVI. 


THE   STORY. 


EARS  agone,  I  loved  a  lassie, 

Was  as  dear  as  life  to  me. 

She  was  carried  by  a  dragon 

To  his  palace  o'er  the  sea. 

And  the  sun  went  out  forever, 

And  the  stars  died  in  the  strife, 
All  the  earth  grew  blank  and  dreary. 
She  was  gone  who  seemed  my  life  ! 
So  I  went  down  to  the  seacoast, 

Years  and  years  I  waited  there ; 
Till  one  bright,  sunshiny  morning. 
Chanced  to  meet  a  mermaid  fair. 
'  O  young  mermaid,  golden-tressed  ! 

I  've  a  boon  to  ask  of  thee  : 
Make  me  but  that  bird  out  yonder 

Flying  eastward  o'er  the  sea." 
And  the  maid  forgot  her  combing, 

Let  her  hair  fall  to  her  knee ; 
'  Thou  shalt  have  the  boon  thou  askest 

If  thou  'It  give  thy  soul  to  me." 
■  Gladly,  gladly,  young  sea-maiden, 
Soul  and  body  take  in  pay ; 


THE   STORY 

Give  me  but  that  bird's  white  pinions 

Quickly,  quickly,  no  delay." 
In  an  instant  I  was  sailing 

On  white  wings  across  the  main, 
All  my  bird's  heart  beating,  dancing, 

To  see  her,  my  love,  again. 
And  I  found  her  !  found  her  happy, 

For  the  dragon  proved  a  knight ; 
So  I  died  on  her  dear  bosom, 

And  she  kissed  my  pinions  white. 


ZZ 


34 


I'ASSAR    VERSE 


XXVII. 

"IN  LIGHTER   VEIN." 

N  lighter  vein  —  blue  eyes  and  rosy 

lips, 
Gay   songs   and   dances,   jests    and 
merry  quips ; 
No  thought  of  the  great  mysteries  of  Pain 
And  Life  and  Death,  but  just  a  clear  refrain 
That  in  'twixt  thoughts  of  love  and  laughter 

slips, 
Light   as   the  foam  that  from   the  oar-blade 

drips  — 
Such  is  the  measure  of  our  careless  strain, 
In  lighter  vein. 

Safe  into  port  come  all  our  wandering  ships 
From  those  dim  lands  o'er  which  the  horizon 

dips; 
Our  Fancy's  castles  prove  not  all  in  Spain ; 
Oh,  life  is  fair  and  every  path  is  plain, 
If  we  but  woo  the  muse  who  ever  trips 
In  lighter  vein. 

Elizabeth  Kemper  Adams. 


OF  COURSE  35 


XXVIII. 

OF  COURSE. 

MERRY  shepherd  lad  was  Jock, 

Of  course. 
All  day  he  watched  his  father's  flock, 
Of  course. 
He  never  had  learned  to  write  or  spell, 
But  he  loved  his  bonnie  lassie  well, 
And  she  his  love  did  not  repel, 

Of  course. 

Her  hair  was  black  as  a  raven's  wing, 

Of  course. 
And  she  like  the  clear-voiced  lark  could  sing, 

Of  course. 
Her  bright  black  eyes  were  never  sad. 
Her  face  was  all  the  wealth  she  had. 
And  so  she  loved  her  shepherd  lad, 

Of  course ! 

A  gallant  guardsman  came  to  town, 

Of  course. 

He  was  worth  full  many  a  hundred  poun', 

Of  course. 


36 


FASSAJi^    VERSE 


She  fell  in  love  with  this  guardsman  gay, 
So  she  jilted  Jock  and  she  ran  away. 
He  married  somebody  else,  they  say. 

Of  course ! 
Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


FASSAA'  COLLEGE  37 


XXIX. 

VASSAR  COLLEGE. 

N  institution  once  there  was, 
Of  learning  and  of  knowledge, 
Which  had  upon  its  high  brick  front 
A  "  Vassar  Female  College." 

The  maidens  fair  could  not  enjoy 

Their  bread  and  milk  or  porridge, 

For  graven  on  their  forks  and  spoons 

Was  "Vassar  Female  College." 

Tra  la  la  la,  tra  la,  la,  la, 

'T  was  Vassar  Female  College. 

A  strong  east  wind  at  last  came  by, 

A  wind  that  blew  from  Norwich  ; 

It  tore  the  "  Female  "  from  the  sign 

That  was  upon  the  College. 

And  as  the  Faculty  progressed 

In  wisdom  and  in  knowledge, 

They  took  the  "  Female  "  off  the  spoons 

As  well  as  off  the  College. 

Tra  la  la  la,  tra  la,  la,  la, 

It  now  is  Vassar  College. 

Amy  Lottise  Reed. 


3^  yASi;AA'    VEKSK 


XXX. 

TO   A   LITTLE  EDITOR. 

TIRED  little  editor 

Came  wearily  to  me, 
Her  face  was  full  of  trouble, 

tier  e)-es  drooped  mournfully. 


With  piteous  tears  she  begged  me 

To  set  to  work  and  write 
A  —  something  —  for  her  paper, 

Something  not  too  deep  nor  light. 

Perhaps  a  few  brief  personals. 

To  tell  the  different  ways 
That  the  most  distinguished  Seniors 

Had  spent  the  holidays. 

A  little  editorial 

All  full  of  sayings  bright, 
A  review  upon  a  novel 

That  she  was  going  to  write. 

The  poor,  dear  little  editor  ! 
She  looked  so  sad  that  I 


TO   A   LITTLE  EDITOR 

Could  n't  bear  to  disappoint  her, 
So  I  rashly  said  I  'd  try. 

I  sharpened  well  my  pencil, 
A  brand  new  pad  I  bought, 

I  put  "  engaged  "  upon  my  door, 
And  sat  me  down  and  thought. 

Alas  !  I  found  that  writing 
Was  not  within  my  sphere ; 

For  though  I  sat  for  hours, 
I  had  n't  an  idea. 


You  tired  little  editor! 

I  'm  sorry  to  refuse. 
But  I  sadly  fear  in  writing 

I  'm  of  ver}'  little  use. 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


39 


40 


VASSAK    VERSE 


XXXI. 

NOTES   ON   A   PSYCHOLOGY   RECITATION. 

'VE  thought  about  it, 

And,  ez  for  me, 
I  ain't  at  all, 
Es  fur  'z  I  see. 


But  them  't  ain't 

Don't  have  no  sight, 
So  now  I  'm  in 

A  pooty  plight. 

But  what 's  a  plight 
But  a  gineral  mix, 

And  them  't  ain't 
Ain't  in  that  fix. 


This  'ere  impression 
Has  gone  quite  deep ; 

I  sartinly  ain't. 
Awake  or  asleep. 

But  how  can  them 
'At  ain't,  awake, 


PSYCHOLOGY  RECITATION        41 

Or  be  asleep, 
For  massy  sake  ? 

This  'ere  discussion 

Don't  lead  nowhere ; 
And  ef  it  did 

Th'r'  ain't  nothin'  there. 

Annie  Thompson  Nettleton. 


42 


VASSAR    VERSE 


XXXII. 
VASSAR   TO    HARVARD. 


jpr3>i.i/s:y|-;0UR  gay  Lampoon,  all  life  and  fun, 
}jS^'^'\       I  place  beside  our  Miscellany, 

i  And  envy  you  each  joke  and  pun  — 
We  're  far  too  brainy  ! 


We  write  on  politics,  finance,  — 

Ruled  strictly  out  the  smallest  jibe  is, — 

And  quote  remarks  of  Locke's  and  Kant's. 
We  have  no  Ibis. 

If  once  our  Misc.  a  grind  should  print, 
Ah,  woe  betide  the  poor  transgressor ! 

While  you  can  roast,  without  a  stint. 
Each  sage  professor. 

We  dull  and  serious  are,  by  fate, 
And  leave  to  you  the  fun  and  folly. 

Yet  underneath  our  air  sedate, 
We  're  just  as  jolly  ! 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


A    COMMON  OCCURRENCE 


43 


XXXIII. 

A   COMMON   OCCURRENCE. 

AID  the  maiden  to  her  teacher, 
"  I  'm  hero  in  the  play, 
And  I  'd  like  to  borrow  from  you 
My  —  your  coat,  sir,  if  I  may." 


Then  the  teacher  sighed  so  softly. 
Thus  at  length  he  gently  spoke  : 

■  I  'm  a  Christian  man,  O  maiden,  — 
You  may  also  take  my  cloak." 

Alice  Crawford  Brown. 


44 


FASSAA'    I  -£A'Si: 


XXXIV. 


QUID   PRO   QUO. 


I. 

IS  a  modest  rhyme,  to  a  proper  air, 
With  sentiment  not  o'er-laden  ; 
And  it  aims  to  tell  of  the  love  affair 
Of  a  youth  and  a  Vassar  maiden,  — ' 
To  tell  of 
The  love 

Of  a  youth  for  a  Vassar  maid. 

His  heart  beat  high 

But  he  feared  to  speak. 

Lest  she  should  not  an  helpmeet  prove 

Industrious  and  meek. 

So  he  asked  her  plainly. 

Ere  he  made  his  moan. 

How  much  of  the  housewifely  art 

To  her  was  known. 
"  Can  you  brew  ?     Can  you  bake 

Good  bread  and  cake  ? 

(Before  my  love  I  utter) 

Can  you  sew  a  scam  ? 

Can  you  churn  the  cream 

To  make  the  yellow  butter  ? 


QUID   PRO   QUO  45 

"  What  use  is  refraction, 
Chemical  reaction, 
Biologic  protoplasm, 
Psychologic  microcosm  ? 
Would  you  make  my  weal, 
You  must  cook  the  meal. 
Maid  divine,  if  so,  be  mine, 
If  not  —  farewell." 

II. 

You  at  once  perceive  he  did  not  believe 
In  '"higher  education," 
And  the  maid  replied,  with  natural  pride, 
And  a  lack  of  hesitation, 

Replied 

With  pride. 
To  the  youth  who  sadly  sighed  : 
"  I  was  early  taught. 
Ere  I  took  A.  B., 

To  brew  and  bake,  to  sew  and  cook. 
Quite  thriftily. 
But  ere  I  give  my  answer, 
I  from  you  must  learn. 
If  this  I  do,  pray  what  have  you 
To  ofTer  in  return .'' 
Can  you  rent  the  room 
Where  I  use  the  broom  ? 


46  VASSAR    VERSE 

Can  \-ou  earn  the  household  money  ? 

Can  you  chop  the  wood 

While  I  cook  the  food, 

And  provide  the  milk  and  honey  ? 

"  What  use  is  refraction, 
Chemical  reaction. 
Biologic  protoplasm, 
Psychologic  microcosm  ? 
Would  you  make  my  weal, 
You  must  buy  the  meal. 
You  shake  your  head.     You  I  '11  not  wed, 
And  so,  — farewell. 

Amy  Louise  Reed. 


TO    THE  POINT 


47 


XXXV. 

TO    THE   POINT. 


OME,  love,  a  word  with  you; 

My  wandering  heart  at  last  is  caught 


and  caged. 


I  'm   blunt,   you   see,    but   then   the 
truth  will  out. 
I  love  you  —  Let 's  hang  out  "  Engaged." 

Flore?tce  Halliday. 


48 


VASSAR    VERSE 


XXXVI. 


ET  along,  old  Pegasus, 
I  'm  going  on  a  flight ; 
I  have  to  write  a  valentine 
To  go  this  very  night. 


It 's  going  to  be  for  EmeUne, 
To  tell  her  of  my  love ; 
So  get  along,  old  Pegasus, 
Into  the  realms  above. 

Of  course  she  knows  I  love  her, 
But  it  has  to  be  in  rhyme  ; 
And  that 's  the  reason,  Pegasus, 
I  'm  taking  all  this  time. 

A  few  remarks  about  her  eyes, 
And  one  about  her  nose. 
Then  something  said  about  my  heart, 
Such  nonsense  since  she  knows. 

I  put  it  down  on  paper,  though. 
Because  although  she  knows, 
I  want  to  make  it  doubly  sure 
She  knows  I  know  she  knows. 

Katharine  Van  Dyke  Marker. 


THE  DEAR   UXATTAINABLE      49 


XXXVII. 

THE    DEAR    UNATTAINABLE. 

IS  not  that  it  is  fairer,  sweet, 
The  rose  that  sways  above  you  ; 
\l yo2i  but  grew  just  out  of  reach, 
Ah  me,  how  I  could  love  you ! 

Yet  if  I  did,  your  fancy  straight 

Would  turn  from  my  pursuing, 

Some  other  man  would  win  your  heart 

Another  maiden  wooing. 

Mary  Louise  Boynton. 


50  rASSAA'    VERSE 


XXXVIII, 
CONFESSIO   AMANTIS. 


T.VALENTINE,  wait, 
Do  wait  till  I  read  it ! 
It  may  be  my  fate  : 
St.  Valentine,  wait. 
Of  course  I  'm  sedate, 

Too  sedate,  far,  to  heed  it. 
But,  Valentine,  wait. 
Do  wait  till  I  read  it ! 

Ah,  love-words  again ! 

I  always  resist  them. 
Threats,  too !     But,  then. 
They  're  love-words  again, 
Words  from  his  pen. 

Don't  tell  him  I  kissed  them ! 
Ah,  love-words  again ! 

I  always  resist  them. 

If  Jack  did  but  know 

How  he  makes  my  heart  flutter ! 
It 's  fluttering  so. 
If  Jack  did  but  know 


CO?/FESSIO   AMANTIS 

My  foolish  thoughts —     Oh, 
But  they  're  too  rash  to  utter ! 

If  Jack  did  but  know 
How  he  makes  my  heart  flutter ! 

But  Jack  must  not  guess 

I  relent  to  my  lover. 
Hush,  Valentine  !  —  Yes, 
But  Jack  must  not  guess: 
I  should  blush  to  confess, 

And  my  heart  to  discover. 
No,  Jack  must  not  guess 

I  relent  to  my  lover ! 

Jeannie  Clara  Drake. 


51 


VASSAR  VERSE 


XXXIX. 


/ 


A   SONG   OF   DEGREES. 

HERE  "s  a  maiden  wondrous  wise, 

Woe  is  Me  ! 
And  she  never  heeds  my  sighs, 
Woe  is  Me  ! 
For  she  soars  and  she  aspires, 
And  of  learning  never  tires, 
But  of  Me. 

And  she  longeth  for  degrees. 

Pity  Me  ! 
A.  B.'s,  A.  M.'s,  Ph.  D.'s, 

Pity  Me ! 
For  ambition  she  will  live, 
Titles  that  the  world  can  give. 

Not  for  Me. 


But  her  folly  she  would  rue. 

Even  She ! 
If  this  simple  truth  she  knew, 

Even  She  ! 
Love  all  titles  can  bestow, 
And  Love's  power  she  soon  shall  know, 

Only  She ! 


A   SOA'G  OF  DEGREES  53 

"  Loved  Heart's  Darling,"  thus  I  spell 

L.  H.  D. 
"  Light  of  Life.  Dear,"'  thus  I  tell 

LL.  D. 
And  with  pious  zeal  I  vow 
"  Dear  Delight"  is  written  now 

Just  D.  D. 

"  My  Pet  "  shines  on  civic  page, 

M.  P. 
"  My  Gem  "  glows  in  war's  red  rage 

M.  G. 
On  each  doctor's  sign  I  read 
"  My  Dear,"  plain  as  any  creed, 

M.  D. 

l'envoy. 

O  Maiden  !  close  awhile  thy  book ; 
Behold  the  titles  Love  gives  Thee ; 

On  Love  and  on  Love's  pleading  look, 
Then  grant,  I  pray  Thee,  Love  his  fee. 

Lillian  La  Monte. 


54  VASSAR    VEJ^SE 


XL. 


RE  those  brown  eyes  quite  in  earnest, 

As  I  pass, 
And  they  flash  me  a  sweet  message, 
Little  lass  ? 


Can  I  trust  the  depth  of  feeling 

That  I  see, 
When  your  glance  with  cruel  fleetness 

Falls  on  me  ? 

Then,  your  smile  so  gay  and  saucy. 

Does  it  hide 
The  quick  tremor  of  your  sweet  lips  ? 

Is  it  pride  ? 

If  I  cast  my  heart,  fair  maiden, 

At  your  feet, 
Will  you  still  look  as  untroubled, 

As  discreet  ? 


LITTLE  MAID 


XLI. 

]ITTLE  maid,  I  've  lost  my  heart, 

Canst  tell  me  aught  about  it? 
IJ   I  lost  it  in  the  path  one  day,  — 
The  path  of  life,  a  weary  way,  — 
And  be  the  world  or  grave  or  gay, 
I  'm  very  sad  without  it. 

Little  maid,  I  've  found  a  heart, 
Canst  tell  me  aught  about  it  ? 
I  found  it  in  the  path  one  day,  — 
The  path  of  life,  a  merry  way,  — 
And  now  be  skies  or  blue  or  gray, 
I  could  not  live  without  it. 

Emelyn  Batter sby  Hartridge. 


56  FASSAA'  VERSE 


XLII. 

ITTLE  Dan  Cupid  stole  down  on  a 
sunbeam, 
To  get  of  this  old  earth  a  peep. 
He  was  tired  of  play  with  toy  hearts 
and  blunt  arrows, 
And  his  good  mother  Love  was  asleep. 

Little   Dan   Cupid  rode  home  on  the   moon- 
ray, 
And    bore    to    his    mother   as    trophies   of 
might 
Two    human    hearts,    pierced    and    bleeding, 
enfolded 
In  a  bit  of  the  gray  mist  that  shrouded  the 
night. 

"  Ah,    naughty    Dan   Cupid  !  "      Love  cried  ; 
her  tears  falling 
Were  like  the  sweet  dropping  of  soft  April 
rain  ; 
"  Knewest  thou  not  that  in  all  the  wide  heaven 
No  healing  is  found  for  Love's  wounds  or 
Love's  pain  ?  " 


LITTLE  DAN  CUPID  57 

The  pitying  All-Mother  took  to  her  bosom 
The    poor  beating  things  by   Dan   Cupid 
undone. 
"At    least,   ye  may  bear  it    together,"    she 
murmured. 
And  tenderly  kissed  the  two  souls  into  one. 

Amy  Louise  Reed. 


58  VASSAR  VERSE 


XLIII. 

A   HUMBLE    ROMANCE. 

ER  ways  were  rather  frightened,  and 

she  was  n't  much  to  see. 
She  was  n't  good   at  small  talk   or 
quick  at  repartee  ; 
Her    gown    was    somewhat    lacking    in    the 

proper  cut  and  tone, 
And  it  was  n't  difficult  to  see  she  'd  made  it  all 

alone. 
So  the  gay  young  men  whose  notice  would 

have  filled  her  with  delight 
Paid  very  small  attention  to  the  little  girl  in 
white. 

He  could  n't  talk  the  theatre,  for  he  had  n't 

time  to  go. 
And,  though  he  knew  that  hay  was  high,  and 

butter  rather  low. 
He  could  n't  say  the  airy  things  that  other  men 

rehearse, 
While  his  waltzing  was  so  rusty  that  he  did  n't 

dare  reverse. 


A  HUMBLE  ROMAiYCE  59 

The  beauties  whom  he  sighed  for  were  most 

frigidly  polite, 
So  perforce  he  came  and  sat  beside  the  little 

girl  in  white. 

She  soon  forgot  her  envy  of  the  glittering  beati 

monde, 
For  their  common  love  of   horses  proved   a 

sjTnpathetic  bond. 
She  told  him  all  about  the  farm,  and  how  she 

came  to  town, 
And  showed  the  honest  little  heart  beneath  the 

home-made  gown. 
A  humble  tale,  you  say  —  and  yet  he  blesses 

now  the  night 
When  first  he  came  and  sat  beside  the  little 

girl  in  white. 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


6o  VASSAR  VERSE 

XLIV. 

HIS   VALENTINE. 

E  sat  and  tore  his  curly  hair 
By  many  a  midnight  taper, 
And  ruined  countless  dainty  sheets 
Of  most  expensive  paper. 

The  reason,  this :  he  wished  to  send 

(If  rhymes  he  could  discover) 

The  very  sweetest  valentine, 

Their  most  ambitious  lover. 

But  all  in  vain.     A  winsome  face 

Seemed  peeping  o'er  his  shoulder 

To  stop  his  pen  and  steal  his  wits, 

And  yet  how  could  he  scold  her  ? 

His  similes  were  dull  and  flat. 

His  rhymes  grew  worse  each  minute, 

Her  voice  to  him  was  all  that  had 

A  bit  of  music  in  it. 

And  when  the  dear  old  Saint's  Day  came, 

Instead  of  missive  scented, 

A  bit  of  pasteboard  at  the  door 

Was  all  that  he  presented. 

But  holding  fast  her  hand  in  his 

And  bending  low  above  her, 

He  boldly  said,  "  I  love  you,  sweet !  "  — 

This  most  courageous  lover. 

Elizabeth  Kemper  Adams. 


THE   TALE  OF  A   PEGASUS        6i 

XLV. 
THE    TALE    OF   A   PEGASUS 

WITH    A   MORAL. 

HAD  a  Pegasus,  not  great  indeed, 
Nor  swift  of  foot,  nor  highly  pedi- 
greed, 
And  yet  a  merry,  willing  little  beast, 
And  ne'er  was  carnival  or  fete  or  feast 
But  I  did  ride  him  fortli  and  gently  spurred 
Him  on  to  dance  and  caper  till  some  word 
Of  kindly,  careless  praise  about  his  gait, 
His  coat,  his  spirit,  made  my  heart  elate. 
Poor  little  fellow  !     In  my  foolish  pride 
Morning  and  noon  and  night  I  used  to  ride 
Until  I  wore  him  out ;  he  soon  grew  thin, 
And  every  foot  went  lame.     His  sides  fell  in, 
His  ribs  stood  out,  and  when  he  tried  to  prance, 
Half-hidden  laughter  greeted  him,  or  glance 
Of  scornful  pity,  —  though  he  did  his  best. 
At  last  I  had  to  own  he  needed  rest ; 
So  I  have  turned  him  out,  and  left  him  free 
To  end  his  days  in  peace.  —  But  as  for  me, 
To  serenade  my  love  with  song  and  lute, 
.Saddened  and  humbled,  I  must  go  on  foot. 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


62 


VASSAA'  VEJiSE 


XLVI. 

LOVE'S    PRESCRIPTION. 

HE  was  a  merry  little  witch, 

Of  family  most  patrician, 
The  belle  of  all  the  watering-place 
1  was  a  young  physician. 


'T  was  chance  that  brought  me  to  her  side 
That  day  !  —  I  '11  ne'er  forget  it. 

A  slip,  a  tiny  ankle  sprained, 
And  I  called  in  to  set  it. 

I  very  soon  forgot  to  wear 

My  doctor's  mien  imperious. 
I  called  upon  her  thrice  a  day, 

(For  sprains  are  often  serious). 

Her  merry  eyes  had  made  a  wound 

In  my  poor  heart  to  rankle, 
And  so  I  still  kept  up  my  calls  — 

To  ask  about  the  ankle. 

She  owned  one  day  she  felt  so  strange, 
Could  I  prescribe  a  tonic  .'' 


LOVE'S  PRESCRIPTION  63 

She  did  not  sleep,  was  oft  depressed. 
Oh,  was  it  something  chronic  1 

She  was  n't  like  herself  at  all. 

What  made  her  feel  so  altered  }  — 
"  Perhaps  a  doctor's  constattt  care  ?  "  — 

But  here  I  blushed  and  faltered. 

Then  growing  bolder,  "  Love,"  I  cried, 
"  Can  cure  all  youth's  disorders. 

She  shyly  said,  "  I  put  myself 
Beneath  my  doctor's  orders." 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


64  VASSAK  VERSE 


XLVII. 

BESS'S   CHRISTMAS. 

N  Christmas  morning,  little  Bess 
Awoke  so  bright  and  early, 
A  Christmas  fairy  must  have  slept 
Beside  her  head  so  curly. 

Her  gleeful  laughter  bubbled  out, 

And  in  we  all  came  flocking, 
And  found  her  hugging  blissfully 

A  huge,  misshapen  stocking. 

"  Oh,  look  !  "  she  cried,  "  Oh,  mamma,  look  ! 

I  'm  sure  that  Santa  spied  it, 
For  see,  it 's  grown  as  big  as  me 

And  Christinas  is  inside  it." 

At  last  'mid  all  her  wealth  outspread. 

She  sat  and  gazed  around  her. 
We  mutely  waited  what  she  'd  say 

When  she  had  ceased  to  ponder. 

She  glanced  about  with  look  content, 

Then  said  with  air  decided. 
And  most  emphatic  nod  of  head, 

"Well  now  I  am  purvided." 

Winifred  Arttold. 


A   DIFFERENCE  65 


XLVIII. 

A    DIFFERENCE. 

N    the    sleigh    there   was   only  just 
room  for  us  two. 
There  was  nobody  else  to  forbid 
it  — 

The   music   of   sleigh-bells  beat   time   to   my 
heart  — 
And  some  way  or  other  I  did  it. 

There  was  love  inthe^air  that  we  breathed; 
the  white  snow 
Was  tinged  with  the  sun's  golden  glory. 
Well,  —  I  spoke  —  and  she  gave  me  the  mitten 
point-blank ! 
That 's  the  long  and  the  short  of  the  story. 

The  wild  rush  of  happiness  you  do  not  know  ; 

You  can't  know  unless  you  have  tried  it. 
What 's  that  ?     Why,  she  gave  me  the  mitten 
—  that's  true  — 
But  her  dear  little  hand  was  inside  it ! 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


66  VASSAIi  VERSE 


XLIX. 

RONDEAU. 

MODERN  girl,  we  know  you  well, 
In  Life  and  Puck  you  always  dwell ; 
A  dainty  form,  a  piquant  face, 
A  tiny  foot,  a  cloud  of  lace, 

In  short,  a  charming  personnel. 

On  every  heart  you  cast  a  spell, 

Poor  foolish  hearts,  they  cannot  tell, 

You  lead  them  but  an  idle  chase, 
O  modern  girl. 

And  yet  (I  've  heard  such  things  befell)  — 

Sometimes  the  coldest  demoiselle 

Will  look  to  find  in  its  old  place 

Her  heart,  and  meet  but  empty  space. 

At  such  bold  theft  does  she  rebel, 
O  modern  girl  ? 

Elizabeth  Kemper  Adams. 


AlV  EXPLANA  TIOX  67 


L. 

AN    EXPLANATION. 

lOU  ask  why  I  knelt  at  her  feet  last 
night, 
In    a    shadowy   nook    of    the    dim 
lighted  hall, 
And  why  for  so  long  in  that  attitude  bowed  ? 
'T  was  to  fasten  the  tie  of  her  slipper,  —  that 's 
all. 

And  why  should   I  blush  when  you  question 

me  now  ? 
Don 't  you  think  you  could  guess,  if  you  really 

tried  ? 
For  why  should  I  blush,  unless  it 's  because 
'T  was  a  love-knot  that  last  night  I  tied  ? 

L.  Minna  Ferrell. 


08  rASSAA'    VERiiE 

LI. 

MY   HOUNDS. 

HEN   'neath  my  window's  bars  my 
good  hounds  growl, 
And  through  the  darkness  frantic 
rushes  make 
At  unseen  foes,  until  the  echoes  wake 
And  lift  their  voices  up  in  answering  howl; 
Then  do  I  scorn  the  terrors  of  the  dark, 
And  laugh  aloud,  and  cry  out  in  delight, 
"  No  danger  need  I  tremble  at  to-night  — 
My  good  hounds  bark." 

But   when  no  deep-toned  baying  breaks  the 

hush, 
When  all  the  silent  night,  my  ears  I  strain 
To  hear  their  watchful  muttering,  in  vain. 
And  the  ground  quakes  not  with  their  sudden 

rush, 
Then  shadowy  forms  my  chamber  seem  to  fill, 
And  stealthy  footsteps  on  the  stair  I  hear  ; 
My  heart  leaps,  quivering  with  a  nameless 
fear  — 

My  hounds  are  still. 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


GREA  TNESS  69 


LII. 
GREATNESS. 

HOU  foolish  one,  to  tell  thyself 
The  universe  hath  need  of  thee  ; 

How  proudly  dost  thou  bid  thy  walls 
To  tumble  down  and  set  thee  free ! 


Hast  thou  a  scheme  to  mend  the  world  ? 

'Mid  longings  for  a  wider  sphere, 
And  idle  dreams  of  future  use. 

Thou  dost  forget  the  Now  and  Here. 

Behold  the  hills  in  lonely  wilds 
That  stand  for  centuries  the  same  ! 

They  never  break  their  silent  calm 

With  sudden  bursts  of  smoke  and  flame. 

But  for  the  verdure  of  their  slopes 
Their  wooded  tops  against  the  sky, 

Where  were  the  gentle  sheep  to  feed  ? 
Where  were  the  sunset  clouds  to  lie  ? 

An  atom  thou,  'tis  tliine  to  do 
Resistlessly  a  humble  part ; 


70  FASSAR    VERSE 

Alone  and  free  thou  wouldst  be  lost, 
Thy  place  is  only  where  thou  art. 

Then  cease  thy  foolish,  fretful  strife, 
And  think  of  what  thy  walls  enclose. 

Be  great  in  all  thy  little  acts, 
Be  great,  if  need  be,  in  repose. 

Annie  Thompson  Nettleton, 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TORRENT       71 


LIII. 

THE   MOUNTAIN   TORRENT. 

OUD    shouted    the    wild    mountain 
torrent, 
Enchanting  my  soul  in  its  flight, 
Still  louder  it  sang  while  it  beckoned 
With  fingers  so  pliant  and  white. 
Be  strong,  O  my  heart,  in  this  tumult. 
Hark  not  to  that  voice  so  shrill,  — 
The  song  of  the  white-breasted  sparrow 
That  whistles  so  loud  on  the  hill ; 

"  Time  flies  so  wearily,  wearily,  wearily." 

Deep  thundered  the  water  beneath  me, 

Loud  chanted  the  bird  on  the  hill, 
One  moment,  —  I  cannot  resist  it,  — 

My  heart  in  its  terror  stood  still, 
While  the  restless  impetuous  current 

Curled  temptingly  near  to  my  feet. 
And  there  rushed  through  my  feverish  being 

The  thought  that  to  rest  must  be  sweet. 
O  Lord,  be  merciful,  merciful,  merciful ! 


72  VASSAR    VERSE 

Look  up,  O  my  soul,  to  the  mountain, 

To  that  spotless  and  spirit-like  cloud  ; 
Grow  strong  in  their  beautiful  calmness. 

Though  the  stream  at  thy  side  shout  so  loud  ; 
Ask  not  that  thy  heart  become  silent, 

Nor  ask  that  life's  tumult  may  cease, 
But  lift  up  thine  eyes  to  the  mountain 
Whence  comcth  God's  infinite  peace. 

So  life  grows  beautiful,  beautiful,  beauti- 
ful. 

Lola  Lammot  Iddings. 


FAILURE  73 


LIV. 

FAILURE. 

IS  sad  to  fail.     If  bird  have  built  its 
nest 
On  twigs  too  slender  to  sustain  the 
weight 

'T  will  mourn,  on  seeing  its  unhappy  fate 
When  some  strong  wind  has  torn  it  from  its 

rest. 
The  rose  whose  early  buds  an  ugly  pest 

Has  blighted,  deems  the  summer  all  too  late 
To  strive  again.     The  moth  whose  change 
—  by  fate  — 
Reveals  but  crumpled  wings  and  ragged  crest 
Has  naught  to  hope.      The  bird  may  build 
again 
Made  wiser  by  mistake  ;  the  roses  bloom 
But  sweeter  for  the  early  loss.     Alas  ! 
The  moth  can  live  but  once.     Ah,  not  in  vain 
Is  failure  in  a  life.     But  what  the  doom 
Of  lives  that  fail .?     Will  any  answer  pass  ? 


74 


VASSAR  VERSE 


LV. 


OVE  is  a  river  that  would  flow 
Forever  calm  and  bright ; 
Dashed  into  spraj^,  its  misty  tears 
Are  rainbowed  into  light. 


Love  is  a  jewel  flashing  forth 
The  brightness  of  the  sun  ; 

Crushed,  and  a  thousand  glories  shine 
Where  there  has  been  but  one. 

Love  is  a  never-ending  song, 
Taught  to  the  soul  at  birth. 

That  it  might  sing  of  heavenly  things 
While  waiting  on  the  earth. 


SERENADE  75 


LVI. 

SERENADE. 

IGH  on  the  balcony, 

See,  she  is  kneeHng, 
While  the  faint  mists  of  night 
Round  her  are  stealing. 
Lake-lily,  fold  away 

All  your  robes  white, 
She  is  more  fair  than  you  — 
Queen  of  the  night. 

See  how  the  tiny  waves 

Bow  low  before  her ; 
See  how  the  winds  of  night 

Come  to  adore  her. 
Moon,  draw  your  veil  of  clouds  ; 

Stars,  hide  your  light  ; 
She  can  outshine  you  all  — 

Queen  of  the  night. 

Juliet  Wilbur  Tompkins. 


76 


VASSAR   VEKSE 


LVII. 

THE   SKY'S   VALENTINE. 

HE  heavens  bent  low  o'er  the  earth 
To  whisper  a  word  of  love  ; 

For  the  earth  was  lonely  below, 
And  the  sky  was  longing  above. 
Then  the  heavens  called  to  the  clouds, 
And  bade  them  the  message  take 
To  the  dear  old  waiting  world, 

When  the  morning  gray  should  break. 
"  Go  rest  on  the  heart  of  the  earth, 
And  say,  thou  art  ever  mine." 
And  the  snowflakes  that  softly  fell 
Were  the  fond  sky's  Valentine. 

Alice  Crawford  Brown. 


TO  A  LADY 


77 


LVIII. 

TO   A    LADY. 

OU  will  not  be  my  friend.  —  I  know 
this  truth, 
And   my  whole  soul  is  sick  with 
grief  and  pain, 
For  you  have  never  understood,  dear  heart, 
And  my  sweet  hopes  and  prayers  are  all  in 
vain. 

You  will  not  be  my  friend.  —  Yet  I  give  you 
My  love  and  reverence  for  pure  womanhood 

Unsought  and  freely,  and  I  ask  of  you 

No  grace  save  leave  to  love  you  as  I  would. 

You  will  not  be  my  friend.  —  But  knowing  you 
Gives  me  a  glimpse  of  an  unwonted  height, 

And  shows  the  path  of  purer,  nobler  life  ; 
I   thank  you  from  my  heart,   Priestess  of 
Light ! 


y 


78  VASSAR  I'EKSE 


LIX. 

HY  is  it  tlius  in  our  world,  I  wonder, 
Thus  in  our  world  of  if's  and  yet's, 
Tliat  whenever   love's   passing  two 
hearts  has  wakened 
One  remembers  but  one  forgets  ? 

Why  is  it  thus  in  our  world,  I  wonder. 
Thus  in  our  world  of  cares  and  frets, 
That   whenever   the   jarring   two   hearts    has 
sundered 
One  remembers  while  one  forgets  ? 

What  does  it  matter  to  me,  you  wonder. 
The  why's  and  wherefore's  of  pain  ?     And  yet 
You  will  scarcely  pause  to  waste  time  in  the 
wond'ring, 
For  I  remember  while  you  forget. 

Emelyn  Batter sby  Hartridge. 


SONNET  FROM  THE  DEAD        yg 


LX. 
SONNET   FROM   THE   DEAD. 


f^^^ 

jAIN  thou  waitest,  sweetheart,  on 

^^^ 

the  stair, 

^^^ 

One  hand  against  the  carved  oak 

balustrade, 
The  other  with  its  guarding  finger  laid 
In  playful  warning  on  thy  lips  most  fair, 
To  mind  me  that  I  keep  with  jealous  care 
The  word  thou  gavest  me,  which  straightway 

made 
A  tie  of  sweetest  import  'twixt  my  staid 
Unlovely  self  and  thee.     Thy  dusky  hair, 
Touched  by  a  gleam  from  mullioned  window 
high. 
Is  halved  softly  round  that  tranquil  brow 
Of  white,  until  thou  seemest  a  very  saint 
Indeed,  whose  garment-hem  I  may  not  taint 
With  careless  breath.  —  The  secret,  sweet- 
heart, now 
That  I  am  dead,  is  ours  till  by  and  by. 

Jenette  Barbour  Perry. 


8o  FASSAR    VERSE 


LXI. 

TO   A    PICTURE  — "MEMORY." 

ITH  hands  behind  her  head,  and  up- 
turned face, 
Framed  in  by  waving  hair  that  glim- 
mers bright, 
As  purest  gold  about  an  opal's  light ; 
With  eyes  that  gaze  afar,  yet  see  no  trace 
Of  outspread  future,  but  the  crowded  space 
Of  sweet  and  bitter  past ;  deep  eyes  that  light 
With  smiles  and  sadden  all  at  once, —  as  Night 
Is  full  of  clouds  and  all  the  moon's  fair  grace, — 
With  lips  that  curved  in  happiness,  yet  seem 
So  sad  withal  we  could  but  weep,  were  she 
Less  fair,  as  thus  she  stands.  And  all  supreme 
Our  own  sweet  crowded  years  roll  silently 
Before  our  eyes,  and  we,  too,  pause  to  dream, 
Bound  by  the  magic  spell  of  Memory. 

Leonora  Howe. 


ON  BODENHAUSEN'S  PICTURE    8 1 


LXII. 

ON   BODENHAUSEN'S   PICTURE 

"the  madonna  and  child." 

IHE    fair    young    mother,    standing, 
clasps  her  child, 
Fast,  close  in  warm  embrace,  as  if 
she  feared 
Some  stranger's  hand  would  wrest  him  from 

her  arms, 
Some  sudden  harm  befall  the  sacred  child 
Entrusted  to  her  care.     Her  wondering  eyes 
Dilate  with  brooding  o'er  the  mysteries 
She  cannot  understand,  and  deepen  with 
A  wistful  sadness  and  a  fearful  love. 

The  girlish  mouth  is  tremulous  and  soft, 
And  piteous  almost  in  its  tenderness 
Of  love  for  the  blessed  child,  still  only  hers. 
A  human  mother  holds  within  her  arms 
The  child  Divine,  the  Hope  of  all  the  world. 
The  Bringer  of  glad  tidings  and  great  joy. 
The  giver  of  the  new  commandment  —  love. 
As  yet  He  only  loves  his  mother,  there, 


&2  VASSAK    VERSE 

And  gazes  quietly  on  her  dear  face. 
The  purest  sunlight  streaming  o'er  the  pair 
Sheds  the  Divine  approval  on  the  Babe, 
Restores,  a  space,  the  glory  which  was  his. 
But  clouds  are  gathering,  darkening,  deepening. 
And  far  upon  yon  hill  in  blackest  gloom, 
There  stands  a  cross. 

The  mother  sees  it  not. 
But  still  her  sadness  presages  the  truth  ; 
And  still  the  Babe  in  loveliness  serene 
Smiles  calmly  up  into  his  mother's  face. 

Bessie  Hazelton  Haight. 


THE  STAR   OF  BETHLEHEM       Z^ 


LXIII. 

THE   STAR   OF   BETHLEHEM. 

NE  star  from  all  eternity  has  hung, 
The  porch-light  of  God's  house,  to 

be  a  guide 
To  weary  angels,  speeding  to  his  side 
From  ministn,'  on  earth ;  and  shines  among 
The  lesser  lights  with  glory  that  has  sprung 
From  nearness  to  his  presence,  and  the  wide 
White  gates  of    Heaven,  where   the    hosts 
abide 
Who  chant  his  praise  with  undefiled  tongue. 
But  once,  when  Wise  Men  journeyed  from  afar 
With   gifts   of  gold   and   incense   in   their 
hands, 
God  left  the  portals  dark  and  sent  his  star 

To  guide  their  footsteps  over  desert  sands. 
To  where,  in  stable,  as  the  oxen  are, 

A    little   child   lay   wrapped   in    swaddling 
bands. 

Elizabeth  Kemper  Adams. 


84  VASSAR    VERSE 


LXIV. 

GUIDO'S   MADONNA. 

EHOLD  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord !  " 
Shut  in 
B)'  midnight  darkness,  lo !  a  maiden 
kneels : 

From  out  far  heaven,  a  white  light  softly 
steals 
To  touch  her  face,  that  face  unmarred  by  sin. 

"  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord  !  "    Within 
Her  eyes  are  deeps  of  holy  calm. 
No  warning  din 
Of  coming  troubles  breaks  the  hush  of  night. 
She  only  knows  the  Lord  of  Hosts  hath  said 
The    Lord   hath   bowed    Him   to   her    low 
estate. 
Though  darkness  dim  her  eye,  in  Him  is  light. 
Upon  her  head  his  blessing  hand  is  laid  ; 
Enough  for  her  to  trust  in  Him  and  wait. 

Grace  Emeline  Palmer. 


THE  POET  85 


f 


LXV. 

THE   POET. 

INCE  the  old  world  was  young,  and 

Homer's  song 
Filled  the  dim  ages  with  the  sweep 
and  blow 

Of  poetn,',  men  have  not  ceased  to  know 
The  power  divine  that  makes  the  poet  strong 
To  conquer   the   world's   might   of    sin    and 

wrong : 
Still  women  weep,  and   strong   men's  voices 

grow 
Full  of  a  feeling  they  are  loth  to  show, 
When    some  great   poet   stirs    the    listening 

throng. 
We  drag  our  way  along  life's  crowded  street, 
On  every  side  the  old,  unlovely  things  ; 
The  pulse  of  life  beats  on  at  fever  heat, 
The  hot,  close  city  air  around  us  clings, 
When  lo,  we  stop  to  rest  our  weary  feet. 
For  by  the  way  a  poet  stands  and  sings. 

Elizabeth  Kemper  Adams. 


86  VASSAR    VERSE 


LXVI. 

CHAUCER. 

MAN  in  whom  was  not  the  power  to 

hate ; 
Whose  gentle  charity  was  glad  to 
find 

Some  sweet  redeeming  grace  in  all  his  kind ; 
Whose  strong,  far-reaching  sympathies  both 

great 
And  small  encompassed,  high  and  low  estate. 
A  gracious  spirit  that  could  stoop  to  bless 
The  daisy  for  its  simple  loveliness,  — 
Queen  in  his  daintiest  poesy  enshrined; 
Fair  type  to  him  of  truth  and  purity, 
Of  faith  and  love  and  meek  humility. 
A  heart  that  pitied  where  it  could  not  love, 
That  every  human  joy  and  grief  could  move. 
A  soul  attuned  to  nature's  sweetest  strain, 
In  whose  far  depths  it  lived  and  sang  again. 


ALFRED    TENNYSON 


87 


LXVII. 

SONNETS. 

I. 

ALFRED   TENNYSON. 

1S09-1S92. 

LAUREATE  poet,  who  hast   ever 

stood 
For  all  things  pure  and  true  while 
other  men 

Wander  and  stumble  over  moor  and  fen 
Of  unbelief,  O  Merlin  thou,  who  could 
But    yesterday    sing    of    the    "  gude    greene 

vvoode," 
And  bring  us  all  its  breezy  freshness  when, 
With  thee,  we  dreamed  the  world  was  young 

again, 
And  strayed  with  Marian  and  Robin  Hood,  — 
Yesterday  ours  thy  singing.     Fainter  now 
And  far,  its  echo  falls  upon  our  ears. 
O  mystery  of  death !  we  wait  and  bow 
Our  heads  to  catch  the  song  earth  never  hears  ; 
We  have  but  little  space  of  silence ;  thou. 
The  eternal  music  of  eternal  years. 


88  VASSAR    VERSE 


II. 

GEORGE    WILLIAM   CURTIS. 
1S24-1892. 

So  empty  now,  and  but  a  little  while 
Ago  his  verj'  self.     O  Easy  Chair, 
We  pause  in  wonder  finding  him  not  there, 
Where  only  yesterday  his  kindly  smile 
Made  all  men  welcome.     Surely  but  a  mile 
Or  so  he  wanders.     See,  the  autumn  air 
Flutters  the  papers  on  his  table  where 
He  left,  a  moment,  the  unfinished  pile. 
Unfinished  !  O  poor  halting  word  of  doubt 
To  which  the  heart  of  man  forever  cleaves ! 
Not  in  the  vacant  study,  but  without, 
Learn  the  completeness  which  all  life  achieves  ; 
The  hills  are  red  with  sunset ;  round  about 
The  flame  of  autumn  burns  along  the  leaves. 

Elizabeth  Kemper  Adams. 


A  WHITE  LIGHT  FELL  89 


LXVIII. 

WHITE  light  fell  on  the  waters  blue, 

The  waves  forgot  to  curl, 
They  stretched  straight  over  their 
boundary  line, 
Drawn  up  toward  the  gates  of  pearl. 

The  gates  bent  down,  the  white  light  blent 

Earth,  heaven,  sea,  and  sky, 
The  crowd  was  still,  with  a  half-felt  awe  — 

God's  shadow  passed  by  ! 

That  pale  light  shed  on  each  watcher's  face 

Its  glory  yet  to  be, 
Each  man  looked  up  at  the  woman  he  loved. 

But  the  women  looked  out  to  sea. 

Then  the  sun  shone  out.     Though  the  people 
turned 

Each  one  his  chosen  way, 
Still  all  had  been,  for  a  moment's  space, 

A  part  of  the  Sabbath  that  day  ! 


90 


VASSAK    VERSE 


LXIX. 

MASQUERADE. 

WO  souls   masked  under  faces  met 
one  day ; 
Ueneath   the   masks   each  saw   the 
other's  eyes. 
Together  from  the  dancing  throng  away 
They  drew,  with  strange,  new  joy  and  sweet 
surprise. 

Then,   filled  with    longing  vague   and  swift 
unrest  — 
"  Unmask  !      Show  me  thy   very  self  !  "  — 
said  one. 
The  other  wept :  •'  Alas,  the  bitter  jest ! 

Thou  knowst    I    may  not  till  the  dance  is 

done." 

Katharine  Warren. 


RONDEL  91 


LXX. 
RONDEL. 

i^RISONERS  under  Time's  stern,  sad 

leading, 
The   old  days   journey  beyond   our 

sight. 

The  happy  days,  when  the  sun  was  bright, 
Cannot  stay,  though  our  hearts  are  pleading. 
With  aching  feet  that  are  cut  and  bleeding 
The  sad  days  pass  in  the  fading  light. 
Prisoners  under  Time's  stern,  sad  leading, 
The  old  days  journey  beyond  our  sight, 
Never  to  come  though  our  hearts  are  needing 
Their  hands  to  lead  us  to  truth  and  right. 
In  vain  we  call  through  the  falling  night  ; 
Prisoners  under  Time's  stern,  sad  leading. 
The  old  days  journey  beyond  our  sight. 

Elizabeth  Kemper  Adams. 


PN 

6110 

C7B22 


University! 

Southerj 

Librarj 


